In honor of Acrozatarim and SecondChances, I’m posting my own poll concerning a Mummy: The Curse

2nd Edition monster I will stat and post here, with a full fluff writeup and full game stats. The voting will
last a few days, then, with a winner determined, I’ll do as promised.

Your choices:

A —- An Abrahamic angel tainted by exile in Duat.

B —- A saltwater-submerged Shuankhsen with a trio of ephemeral cultist spirits from the Red Shores of
Nu.

C —- A living labyrinth, caught in between moments in time.

D —- An Amkhata once worshipped as a god by mortals.

New experiences are the font of creativity, when seeking inspiration, break your routine.

* The House of Red Laws

* The House, itself:

In Duat, there are many tribes and many nations, though all are conquered by the 42 Judges and the
Nameless Gods. From the machine-scarab janissaries of Shining Amun to the faceless bureaucrats of
iron-clad Feng Tu to the red libraries of the Courtiers of Flesh, it’s a fool’s notion that only things directly
associated with Irem and the Nameless Empire exist in terrible squalor and cosmic glory in Duat.

In the the red libraries of the Courtiers of Flesh, they are hallowed places, temples where absolute order
is practiced with a scalpal’s edge and a sadist’s hands, where wails of torment serve as paeans to control
without exception. The Courtiers are beings of endless pain, knowing anguish is the only way for stability
to emerge and remain strong. They even turn their arts inward, for flesh robbed of life holds power for
them, and mountains of viscera are fonts of even greater power.

Subjugated by the Judges and cowed by the might of the Nameless Gods, the Courtiers of Flesh swore
several concessions to their captors. They would use their red books of flesh and spine to codify the
contradictory nightmares/laws enacted by the Judges and their Arisen. They would record this madness
and contradiction on papyrus made from virginflesh, thread the spines with hair from the long-deceased
and write in the blood of curdled origin.

Long ago, the red library of the House of Red Laws was summoned by eldritch Utterance to the bright
and apocalyptic land of Man to receive tribute from an Arisen who sought entrance into the Courtiers’s
ranks. She gave a gift of unparalleled value, a great star-horse chained from its place in the sky, Sleipnir
the Eight-Legged, son of chaos, and the Arisen created a bridge between realms to house this prize.

Sleipnir was delivered, but the Judges would suffer no rivals and so they used an Utterance of their own
to catch the House of Red Laws in a repeating moment, ever-looping, the whole structure caught
between moments.

The Arisen has failed in her bid, and the Courtiers let loose their frustration on the prize dragged down
from the heavens. Many were the ingenious torments Sleipnir endured, but he never broke. He is
defiant. Perhaps, if not caught in Timelessness, Sleipnir’s will would crumble, but, he is defiant now, and
so he will be defiant forever.

These particular Courtiers of Flesh do not care that they are imprisoned, for Timelessness has always
been there. One day, they will be free, and they return home to Duat as if only a day had passed.

But woe upon the fool who finds the Earthly maw leading to the terrible House of Red Laws, for new
doctrine shall be wrung from their searing bones, steaming meat and cooking viscera one agonizing
scream at a time.

* The Courtiers of Flesh, themselves:

The Courtiers of Flesh imprisoned in the House of Red Laws have turned feral, degenerating significantly
from their previous highly-ordered state. Garbed in robes and dresses made of human skin and hoods
made of scalps, the Courtiers each bear significant self-inflicted malformation, as they’ve no one left to
practice their scriptures than each other and poor Sleipnir.

These imprisoned Courtiers still retain enough of themselves to keep instituting their ranks of sacred
initiation, though some ranks have vanished from them, entirely.

The Red Priesthood are the lowest rank, charged with menial duty too lowly for the others. They seethe
with resentment, as there’s been no upward mobility in a very long time. So, they wait, hoping the
Carrion Messiah will send them a clear and unambiguous message from charnel Duat.

Next up the chain of Suffering are the Yellow Priesthood, strange ciphers who go about masked and
speak only in riddles of a lost city, somehow beyond even Timelessness. They pray to their Yellow-
Swathed King to send meat-legions of stinking, rotting flesh to liberate them. They no longer practice the
rites of old, instead spending time recreating their lost home in ever-more-disturbing theatrical acts.

Of Black Priesthood, nothing remains in the House of Red Laws. The Utterances they could have had
might have been of immense value in escaping, but, alas...

Above it squats a single holy being of the fabled White Priesthood, a great, nameless figure frozen
forever in place. Does it still live? Does it still think? No one can be sure, so the imprisoned Courtiers
slavishly and repetitiously carry out the Frozen Purity’s last commands.

* Sleipnir the Eight-Legged:

Caught by that nameless Arisen from astral hooks tossed into the night sky, the stars that made up his
constellation vanished ‘pon his capture. This Arisen dragged him down in a great contest of wills, and he
was goaded into the House of Red Laws by searing hot knives of meteoric iron.

Once inside, Sleipnir raged, but the Courtiers hunted him through the ever-changing hell of the labyrinth,
hooting their excitement to each other like howler monkeys. They caught him and chained him and
worked terrible Utterances upon him.

And then the Judges acted, and their grand miracle fell asunder, lost between seconds. The Courtiers
vented their fury upon Sleipnir, but it was already too late.

What is Sleipnir? The Arisen have no easy answers. They know he came from the Red Shores of Nu, a
constellation once well known but now completely forgotten. It is a horse, but only nominally. No, he is
nothing so mundane. He is four horse-like ‘sketches’ layered on top each other, each made of differently
colored flesh, intestines, a circulatory system and a nervous system, forming the illusion of eight legs.

But he is not the magnificent star-monster he once was, as the Courtiers have been oh so very unkind.
They have flayed him and gelded him and tore out his eyes, revealing an infinite nothing within him. He
stares and bucks wildly and screams so shrilly his voice is more human than animal.

Every brutality inflicted upon Sleipnir gives his captors new insight into the Law of Suffering, which pain-
monks dutifully record in gore-bound tomes.

Sleipnir was never a creature of Earth, and it’s equine visage may well be something forced upon him, to
make him comprehensible to his gaolers. Who know what horrible truth lies beneath all the gristle?